Behind Good and Evil
by cactusx33
Summary: Greendale Community College is set to receive some new additions to its faculty, and the stage is set for an ultimate battle between hope and despair.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a very strange concept for a crossover, and I only hope it works. To me, Community is the most optimistic, hopeful and light comedy I've ever seen, whereas Peep Show is the most bleak, pessimistic and dark. The styles couldn't be more fundamentally different either - Community is whimsical, Peep Show is ruthlessly realistic. Their comedy comes from completely different places, with Community finding humour in the cheerfully absurd and Peep Show poking (often vicious) fun at everyday interactions and the thoughts we suppress. They could not be more of polar opposites, which is what makes it a good idea for a fic.

This is my first fic in a while, and I see it as a sequel or remake of sorts to my first, the Exchange. Community stands in for Glee naturally, as the two shows are relatively similar, though Community is far better. And Peep Show stands in for the Inbetweeners; I won't say it's better, but when I first wrote the Exchange, I was a lot younger and had very few cares, so naturally I related to the Inbetweeners. Now I'm older and have more worries, and while I always loved Peep Show I relate to it a hell of a lot now. This intro comes with a massive apology for unfinished stories for anyone who follows me. This story is for finishing.

This takes place after the conclusion of both shows, because I'm yearning for the return of both and this is my coping mechanism.

* * *

Chapter 1

Abed Nadir had spent very little time in his tiny LA apartment over the last week. He'd put in much more time on the set than the other production assistants, bothering almost anyone that would give him the time of day with endless questions about their role on set and how it could be replicated on an independent, one man production. Apart from that, he'd fallen in with a small group of fellow interns from the show. He hadn't particularly warmed to any of them, and they treated him as a backdrop to their own conversations. But they reminded him of the study group, who he could only reach through Skype until he went back to Greendale in two weeks. And that was all he needed out of them.

Tonight, he had left the set around ten minutes early, a distinct record for him, and gone straight home. He had Skyped with Troy for an hour and then commenced a marathon binge of Inspector Spacetime. It was two hours into this binge when he'd started to hear noises in his apartment. He'd been watching a classic from the earlier seasons, one where the Blorgons were using Nazi technology to wage war on London, and eating buttered noodles. When he heard the small creaking sound, his ears pricked up and he spun around faster than a human blink. The noise was coming from the hallway closet, which he had transformed into a makeshift Dreamatorium one boring Sunday. He stood up and edged closer to the partially-opened closet, his heart beating. When he heard the voice, he nearly jumped through the roof.

"Hello, Abed," said a familiar voice. Out of the closet stepped his goatee-sporting counterpart from the darkest timeline, wearing a dark robe he insisted wasn't a nightgown. He had a strange look on his face, one Abed hadn't seen before.

"Hello, Evil Abed," he replied. "Formerly Evil Abed," he corrected himself after his doppelganger's heel-face turn. "You startled me. Why are you here? You only turn up when things go bad for me. I've got a dream job. We rescued Troy from pirates in the Gulf of Mexico and now he's waiting for me back in Greendale with the rest of my friends. Apart from Annie, who's going to get back to Greendale at the same time as me. The timeline is as bright as it'll ever be."

"True," his counterpart replied. "That's why I'm here. This timeline must remain the brightest. And there's a threat over the horizon."

"Cool," said Abed. "Cool cool cool. What's the threat?"

"It's not cool, Abed," Formerly-Evil Abed replied. "Your world is about to face it's darkest threat. It wants to make your timeline the darkest of all, darker than mine could be in its deepest imagination."

"Okay," said Abed breathlessly. "I'm not going to ask you what it is. You're me, and you know that the threat is always left vague to amp up the tension."

"Exactly."

"What I am going to ask you is how I can stop it," Abed replied. "Maybe a hint?"

"I can give you a hint," said his doppelganger. "You're going to want to make sure all the players are in place for this one. That means Annie and Shirley. I would say Pierce as well but I'm not a necromancer. Though that would be cool."

"It would," said Abed. "Okay. Thanks for the warning. Do you mind if I get back to Inspector Spacetime now?"

His doppelganger glared and pointed a finger. His voice had turned dark and sinister with shocking speed. "Heed my words, Abed Nadir!" he boomed. "Heed my warning or your doom will be your reward!"

Abed remained impassive. "That was cool," he said, without emotion. "How did you do that?"

"Troy made one for me," he replied, shifting his robe to reveal an artificial voicebox. "He's on the side of good again."

"Can you do Batman?"

"First thing I installed," his doppelganger said, switching his voice to a rough Christian Bale impression with the press of a small button on the side.

"Cool," Abed said. His darkest timeline twin then returned to the Dreamatorium without another word. Abed stood there for a moment, processing this information in his head. By the time he turned around, he had a clear idea of what had to be done. He switched off the phone and got ready to start dialling.

* * *

"Hey, Markster!" said the bookish-looking, bespectacled man at the door of Mark Corrigan's flat at Zodiac Court. He held several six packs of lager in a carrier bag. "How's it going?"

 _Good old Ian,_ Mark thought. _Only person at Dartmouth not to use that nickname in mocking irony._

Mark led Ian Duncan into the living room and the two sat down, Ian cracking open two lagers on a silent cue. Mark hadn't seen Ian for years, and they hadn't been particularly kind. Ian had always dressed like a librarian, but Mark couldn't remember his hair being this flat and greasy, or his teeth needing as much dental work, but he was essentially the same man.

"Hi, Ian!" Jeremy Usborne said, and popped his head in the door from his bedroom. He picked up a beer and popped it effortlessly.

"Jez!" Ian returned warmly. "How's it going?"

 _I'm a bisexual, unemployed life coach and my best friend hates my guts,_ Jeremy thought. _How the fuck do you think it's going?_

"Great," he said flatly.

"How long has it been?" Ian asked. "I missed you two! The El Dude Brothers?Dartmouth's premier bad boys?"

 _Don't quite think he's talking about us now,_ thought Mark. "Yeah, it's been a long time, Ian," he said brightly, taking a sip of beer.

"Jez!" said Ian. "Mark told me on the phone you're a gay now! Congratulations. Benefit of hindsight I suppose but I always had a feeling."

"Yeah?" asked Jeremy.

"Yeah," said Ian. "Back in halls you and that guy Pej used to get really drunk, then go into your room for ages. Afterwards it was all weird looks and awkwardness." He grinned. "How is Pej? What's he doing at the moment?"

"The national Dutch police would like to know the same thing," said Mark. "They've been hoping he can assist them with their enquiries for a while."

"Stellar," said Ian. "And what about you, Markster? When we spoke on the phone you said you got fired and were out of work. How does that happen? You're like Captain Employment. You spent Darty Freshers' Week rewriting your CV. What happened?"

Sighing, Mark gave his guest an uncomfortable recap of the events of the last couple of years, from his courtship with and extremely short marriage to Sophie, to Dobby, to baby Ian, to the closure of JLB and his odd jobs since. Jeremy chimed in, telling Ian about his attempts at hitting the big time as a musician, Toni, Nancy, Big Suze, Elena, and ZaraZara, as well as his coming out and the life coaching. Ian listened politely, finishing several beers in the process.

"Wow," he said, when the story wound down. "You two have been through the shit. No lie there. "

"Yep," said Mark, bluntly. "Anyway, that's us. How are you doing, Ian? You said you were coming from America?"

"Yes, that's actually part of the reason I got in touch!" Ian replied. "Yeah, I'm back in London over the summer visiting family in Islington. I'm a professor now, I teach psychology at this college in Colorado. A community college, which is a bit like a polytechnic. It's nice!"

"It sounds great," said Jeremy. "But why did you want to talk to us about it?"

"Well..." he paused. "You see, Greendale, that's the place, is kind of a degree farm. You really don't need to be a master in your field to work there. Look at me, I got a 2:2 at Darty and got my PhD in Bulgaria, and I'm one of their top guys. And that was before! Greendale just got bought out by a current student who inherited a fortune. He's changed the place around totally, especially down to hiring. Doesn't care about qualifications as long as you know what you're teaching about. I thought maybe...just maybe...the two of you would want to apply?"

"Apply?!" said Mark incredulously. "Why? And what subject?"

"History, obviously."

"History?" Mark mimicked. "I never studied history, Ian. I did business studies."

"Experience related qualifications," he replied with a hand wave. "You published a history book, didn't you? Management Secrets of the Sultans, you said?"

"Business Secrets of the Pharaos," Mark corrected. "And it wasn't published, it was printed. Badly. By a company I subsequently took to court."

"Details," said Ian. "We'll send it in via PDF. And Jeremy, if you do a life coaching course we don't need to embellish anything because you're fully qualified! It'll be shooting fish in a barrell. Which I have done once, drunk, and I can assure you it's as easy as it is sadistically satisfying."

"And if they realise that the book and the certificate were published by the same company?" Mark asked coldly.

Ian shook his head. "There's a special allowance in the school's annual budget for Nigerian prince scams. The Dean is...let's just call him a trusting man."

"It sounds convincing," Mark admitted. "But look, I have a life here, sort of. I have a son! I have baby Ian!"

"My namesake?"

"Well he's not named after you if that's what you're getting at, but yes."

"When was the last time you saw baby Ian?" the adult Ian asked. "Just out of interest."

"Three weeks ago, I watched him when Sophie went to Norfolk," Mark replied.

"And did that overly upset you?" Ian asked, finishing another can and giving him a probing stare. Mark paused briefly.

 _He's going to lie to a psychologist,_ thought Jeremy. _You're not allowed to lie to a psychologist. It's the law_. _The...brain law._

"Not really," Mark admitted. "I mean, yeah, I feel like I should yearn to spend time with him. But it just isn't happening! I tell Sophie I'm happy to be a dad but I can't sound convincing."

"Look, far be it for me to tell a father not to be involved with his son's life," said Ian. "I did it once with a student, and the mother of his kid broke into my office and pepper-asprayed me. Most confusing erection I've ever got. But it strikes me you're unhappy, and Jeremy, it sounds like you're even less happy as a gay than you were as a straight. And gay literally means happy! Oh, the irony." He opened up another beer. "A few months, maybe even a couple of years, away is not going to destroy your relationship with your son."

 _Maybe long term he can live with me,_ Mark thought. _Push on with the old gaslighting plan with Sophie, get her sectioned. Oh look, you've put custard in your shoes, darling. No, I don't know why you put the coffee table in the shower, honey. Maybe you shouldn't have weed under the stairs, sweetheart._

"It's not a bad idea," he said, reluctantly. "But what...what is this, Ian? Being honest, we got on well enough at Dartmouth but if I was at JLB and wanted to recruit someone I knew, I wouldn't go all the way to America to bring it to you."

"Well, I told you, I was back home anyway. Look. Greendale's teachers have a higher turnover rate than prison snitches. No genuine teacher stays at the school very long. And when you farm the teaching positions out to the local community you get the real dregs, and I of course mean meth-heads. The Dean said that if anyone has reliable people that can fill the vacancy and have some sort of experience, they'll be considered."

"I have been called reliable," said Mark. _By my dad, sarcastically, after I was seven minutes late for_ _dinner on Easter._

And if I'm honest...I love America, and Americans, but I've been homesick for a while now. I've got friends, but only one close friend, and I nearly conned him out of his Lexus. It is...not the best place to be an arrogant, sarcastic Englishman." He shook his head. "What I need is some good old-fashioned Brits to tag along with. And I'd really rather prefer they be my friends. Or at least, people I was friends with once."

A tone of loneliness, so subtle that neither listener clocked it properly, seeped into his voice. When he lapsed into a brief silence Jeremy stood up and took a short breath.

"Look, Mark," he said. "I might think of you as an anal-retentive tosser and you might think of me as a sponging cockmuncher, but we know everything about each other when it comes down to it. Do you know why you're throwing up all these objections? Because a part of you thinks that this is one of those rare, late in life chances to break away from forty solid years of mediocrity, boredom and self-loathing. And the part of your brain that revels in all that is panicking and throwing up any resistance it can. Mark...for all you piss on America, it's the perfect place for you. A place where social awkwardness gets you a network TV deal, not stared and pointed at on the bus. And teaching history? Come on! I saw the little glint in your eye when we were watching Gladiator and you were going on about Roman feasting rituals. All I asked was what they ate! You paused the fucking film! This is you mate. Don't let those little bastard doubts get to you. Take the shot."

"Good speech, Jez!" said Ian. "That was almost a Winger!"

"A what?" Jeremy asked.

"Doesn't matter. Anyway. That was good."

"Well," Jeremy said, winking at Mark, "I am a life coach!"

"It's a yes from me, Ian," said Mark, brightly. "Fuck it! Let's have an adventure. We'll do it, Ian."

"Brilliant!" he said enthusiastically. "It'll mean a lot to the guys to get a few new faces in. I'll fill you in on all the details." He finished his beer, feeling himself get slightly tipsy. "And look, we need lots of bodies, so if you have friends that have particular talents, by all means mention them to me! As I say, degrees are handy but good experience will do."

Mark and Jeremy exchanged a glance. "We know a couple of people," said Mark.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the review Innocent Fox! I'm very optimistic about this.

* * *

A week and a half after that fateful evening, Jeff Winger pulled up at Greendale's small parking lot in his Lexus. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, one of the final remnants of a gloriously hot summer. He checked his hair in the rear view mirror - the gel had held, and the look was perfect. He offered himself a small, self-confident smile, and got out of the car.

"I told you, Jeff," said Craig Pelton, getting out of the passenger side. "No one will be able to see us on our little car ride together."

"We're carpooling because you live next to me, Craig," Jeff said. "I will literally murder you if you fail to make that distinction to anyone. I don't see why that's not getting through."

"When your lips say 'carpool', your eyes say 'get lost in us'," said Craig. Jeff rolled his eyes but suppressed a slight chuckle before turning to look at the school. With a week to go until the start of semester, the place was deserted and devoid of life. It was an almost eerie feeling, but it was not one he dwelled on for long as he walked towards the library building. Craig followed him.

There were three people sitting at the study desk that Jeff had spent so much time around. Britta Perry, Ben Chang and Greendale's new tycoon owner, Troy Barnes. Troy completely outshone the others in terms of dress - he was wearing a dark silk suit with a red ascot under a bright white shirt. Never a pretentious man despite, he was sat back at his old seat, leaning back casually.

"Hey guys!" he said cheerfully.

"Hey, Britta. Chang. Young black Pierce," Jeff said, smirking.

Troy looked down at himself and loosened his ascot. "Is it a little too much?"

"A little," Jeff replied. "You know, rich people don't always dress like rich people. It's a good way to tell that someone isn't a rich as they look."

"I'm _not_ as rich as I look," said Troy. "Greendale cost me twelve million, that leaves me two million left."

"Oh, my heart bleeds for you," said Chang, angrily.

"Although, you do have one important rich guy staple," said Jeff. "Offending lower earners by complaining about the fact that you're not richer."

"If you're so broke Troy, why can't you stop buying us so much stuff?" asked Britta. "Rolexes, diamond earings?"

"You guys saved my life," Troy replied, earnestly. "If it wasn't for you I'd still be out there in the Gulf of Mexico with LeVar Burton, being held captive by pirates. Or dead. I owe you everything. Besides...you guys are my best friends. Why should I keep all this money for myself?"

"You're a good friend, Troy," said Jeff. "Alright. What's say we get started? As head of the Keep Saving Greendale, or the Nipple Dipper committee, I call this session to order. First order of business?"

"Apologies from absent members," Britta read. "Elroy plans to stay at LinkedIn, apparently they really need him. I can see why, it is LinkedIn. Frankie is now lead administrator at City College. She says this wasn't in retaliation for some minor slight, they just, and I quote, have their crap together a little bit more." She shrugged. "Not totally wrong. Professor Hickey is gone too, he's at a funeral home. I don't know whether that means he died or he's managing one, the email from his son didn't really make things clear."

"Fair enough," said Jeff. "It's a week 'til term starts, there's a lot to do, let's get on with the meeting."

"Uh...aren't you supposed to ask if anyone objects?" said Britta.

"Objects?"

"Yeah. To getting on with the meeting."

"Fine," said Jeff, rolling his eyes." Does anyone object to us getting on with the meeting?"

"We object," said a familiar voice. Jeff turned around and three figures stood just outside the door. Abed, who had spoke, stepped forward boldly. Annie Eddison and Shirley Bennett followed him in. Jeff blinked, almost unwilling to believe the sight before him. He'd held out hope that Abed and Annie would return to Greendale after their first summer in the real world, but he severely doubted he'd see Shirley this year.

"Hi, everybody!" said Shirley. "I missed you!"

"M'lord," said Annie, grinning widely.

"M'lady," Jeff said back, feeling the happiest he had in weeks. "Think we got that the wrong way round." Annie nodded but the two kept smiling at each other for a long time, expressing what couldn't be expressed verbally.

Troy and Abed wasted no time. Abed ran over to his friend, who sprang out of his seat like a rocket. They gave each other a warm embrace. "Troy and Abed back togeeether," they sang in perfect unison, before performing their special handshake.

"I think we've all missed that," said Jeff, and from his tone of voice it was clear there was no sarcasm attached to this.

"I've really missed the five of you!" Shirley said, beaming. "Six! Sorry, Dean Pelton. Chang," she said coldly, staring him down.

"We've missed you too," said Jeff. "But what are you doing here? Are you coming back? I thought you had your dad to look after?"

"I still do," said Shirley as she resumed her normal seat. The others followed suit. "Abed reached out to me, he said it'd be better for my dad to be somewhere where there's more people to look after him. That we didn't need to be alone."

"That's touching, Abed," said Craig.

"Yeah," Jeff admitted. "But wait a sec. I've got two questions."

"Shoot," said Abed.

"Okay. Question one, do you actually object to us carrying on the meeting or did you just want to make a movie-style entrance?"

"The second one," said Abed.

"Okay. Question two." Jeff turned to Britta. "With the way you clumsily pushed me into setting up that line can I assume you were part of this?"

"Abed called me," she admitted. "He wanted to surprise Troy."

"Now that that's resolved I was hoping I could have the floor," said Abed. Jeff shrugged and he stood up. "Guys, it's true. I called Annie and Shirley and made sure they were both going to be coming back to Greendale this season."

" _Year_ , Abed," said Britta. "And why? You had this dream internship with TV. Annie was at the freaking FBI. Who are nasty Orwellian creeps in my opinion but it's still a dream job for Annie. Why mess with that?"

"It's not what you're thinking," said Abed. "I'm not trying to enact some sort of Simpsons status quo, and I'm not having an Abed meltdown. The truth is much more sinister. Greendale is in grave danger."

"Let him finish!" said Troy.

"In grave danger from what Abed?" Craig asked. "Is the black mold back?"

"Has the Ass Crack Bandit struck again?" asked Britta.

"Did you find out about my plan to kidnap Troy and take over the school again?" asked Chang.

"No, no, and yes Chang, Troy says you've been muttering about it under your breath since he came back."

"Your standards have kinda slipped, dude," said Troy sympathetically.

"I know, man," Chang admitted.

"But that's not the danger part," said Abed. "I don't even know what it is. I don't know where it's coming from. All I know is that the danger comes from darkness, so we have to be as light as we can. We have to get into the mindset that there's nothing that can come between us when we're together and united."

"Look, Abed," said Annie. "You're making it kinda impossible to believe you here. But you know what? I'm glad you persuaded me to come back." She gulped away emotion. "The night after I finished my first week at Quantico, I cried myself to sleep. Why? It wasn't because I hated it, or that I didn't fit in. It was the moment I realised that this was me now, this was what I was going to do for the rest of my life, so there wasn't any point coming back here. And I realised that for the rest of my life, I'd never be as happy as my years at Greendale."

She lapsed into a sad silence, which was shared by the others and would have continued if Abed hadn't slammed his hand on the table. "Sorry guys," he said. "But if there's anything you've taught me, Jeff, it's when to slap the table." He rubbed his hand. "I didn't think it would hurt as bad as it did. We have to stay positive and upbeat. No wallowing, that's what the darkness wants. Okay?"

"Okay, Abed," said Jeff. "Fine. So long as you're okay with us thinking this is one of your breakdowns. We'll play it your way and try to be happy."

"Good," said Abed. "And we have to act soon."

"Why's that?"

"We're two chapters in and the two sides haven't met yet. Either the meeting happens soon or the readers are going to feel dicked around."

* * *

At the same time as this conversation, Mark and Jeremy were sitting with Ian in the departure lounge of Gatwick Airport looking at their watches nervously. Their bags were laid out in front of them. Mark had, with meticulous attention, folded everything from his underpants to his woolly jumper. Jeremy on the other hand had balled everything up with reckless abandon and thrown it into the case before sitting on it to close the zips.

"They need to be going through security right about now," said Ian, and neither Mark or Jeremy could count how often he'd said that since they arrived. This time, however, his chant had a response. Mark saw Super Hans making his way towards them from the security area, dragging a huge suitcase behind him.

"Phew, sorry lads," he said as he approached. "Fucking sniffer dogs were all over me. Thought I was Pablo Escobar's favourite drug mule. I was explaining to the geezer that when you do gear that often you're bound to smell of the shit, but I still got the fucking cavity search." He turned to Ian. "Alright mate? Super Hans at your service. You the Yank?"

"Sort of," said Ian, shaking his hand. "Jez says you're applying to be the music teacher?"

"Yeah," Hans replied. "But rather than purely technical shit I'm more thinking 'psychology of bands'. Life on the road, what makes them tick, ya know?"

 _Shit,_ thought Jeremy. _Sounds better than just 'life coaching'. Maybe I should jazz it up a bit?_

"I like it," said Ian. "That is one massive suitcase."

"Oh yeah," said Hans. "Got all the gear here. Clothes, not nose candy. Fred Perry, Barbour, the lot. Best of British. I ain't gonna go out there and become some normalo-Nazi wearing Abercrombie & Fitch."

"That makes sense," said Ian.

Super Hans went on to tell the others about his weekend. Once Mark had used brain bleach to permanently remove the image, he saw a familiar figure coming towards them wearing a business suit.

"Johnson!" he said, walking towards his former boss and friend quickly.

 _Play it cool, Corrigan,_ he said to himself. _Don't bound towards him. Keep a bit of self-esteem. I'm at record low-levels already._ "Hi, Alan," he said, one the gap was closed.

"Hello, Mark," Alan Johnson said in his trademark low voice, with a tone that wasn't overly friendly. He outshone the others in terms of style, wearing a full business suit, a dark overcoat and leather gloves. He extended one gloved hand and Mark shook it with enthusiasm.

"You know the interview's not until tomorrow?" Mark said, looking at his suit.

"Dress for success, partner, that's my attitude." Johnson winked. "Every day's an interview."

 _Which is why you should get there on time,_ Mark thought. _No, Mark. Must trust Johnson. This is probably some sort of weird power play that only he understands._

"Hi," said Ian, giving Johnson a handshake which he considered firm and warm but was enveloped and almost crushed. "Ian Duncan."

"The professor?" asked Johnson. "We spoke on the phone. Good to meet you. Alan Johnson." He turned to face Super Hans and his expression cooled. "Hi. You must be a friend of Jeremy's."

"That's right," he replied, and the two shook hands uneasily. "Super Hans."

"The Hans part needs no explaining, but I'd be interested to find out what warrants the Super," said Johnson, icily.

"If you have to ask, mate," said Super Hans, an edge entering his voice, "you'll never know."

Johnson eyed him for a moment more then turned his attention to Jez.

"Jeremy," he said, with barely masked contempt.

"Johnson," said Jeremy, with even more.

"I hate to break up what must be a warm personal reunion but we really need to get to the gate," said Ian nervously.

"I'll be ready in a second-o," said Johnson. "Got some water coming."

"Coming from...?" Mark asked. In a moment, his question was answered.

 _Jeff!_ he seethed. Jeff Heaney was heading their way with a small suitcase and two water bottles. He handed one to Johnson.

"Alright, Mark!" he said, beaming unpleasantly.

"Jeff!" Mark said, concealing his anger. "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't Alan mention?" Jeff said. "I'm going for an interview too. Introduction to Business as a counterpart to the more in-depth course. We cleared it with Mr Duncan."

"Yeah, sorry, didn't mention," said Ian. "That's okay right, Mark?"

"We're old pals," said Jeff. "Right, Mark?"

"Of course, mate," said Mark unconvincingly, on the spot. "It'll be just like old times."

 _Unless I tell the American passport people you're a mad terrorist and get you sent to Guantanamo,_ he thought bitterly.

"You two can catch up later," said Ian. "We need to get to the gate."


End file.
